


Gentle Repose

by fangwulf



Category: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Gladehomies, M/M, SPOILERS UP TO EPISODE 100
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25585942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangwulf/pseuds/fangwulf
Summary: The world healing sometimes requires people to heal as well.
Relationships: Lucanus Aer'Tea/Erdan, Lucanus Aer'Tea/Jolene Cybin | Mee-Maw
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

The tall, blonde elven creature sat, cross-legged, in front of the humbly marked grave. It was the most comfortable way he could sit, especially for as many hours as he had. It had been three years. To an elf, that could be a blink of an eye, but to him, it felt like forever. So many heartbeats had passed since then. So many people had packed up and left Gladeholm to go back to their gathered homes. 

The Thialan War was over. The land was healing, filling in gaps. The green was coming back where it belonged. Houses were being rebuilt. Families that had not kneeled reunited. Hardwon had gone to help rebuild Irondeep and get King MacGannis back on the throne, and get his people back into the halls of their ancestors. Beverly had gone to Hill Home to help rebuild that first. He knew he had so much to do. First Hill Home, then Galaderon. Cleaning, as well as cleansing, needed to be done. The shortest of them all had the tallest goals.

And his dear daughter. Of course she would return to the Crick. He would see her again, but she had to wander. He knew it. So much like her mother, who had also returned to help travel and heal the land. It made sense. He had Gladeholm. They had the world.

There was one day a year. Just one. That he insisted on handing off the All-Caster to someone else. They could keep the shields up. They were still so incredibly wary of the war returning. A God being killed, of course, was not something many believed. So many had been on the edge of kneeling. So many had that tremble to their legs, who had merely remained standing because of Hardwon's bellows over the din of battle.

It was still so fresh in his mind. But he had lived.

And his friend was dead.

Erdan's remains - what they had been able to scrape together of him - had been buried next to his mother and father, a small plant to indicate their passing.

Qwiksus was missed. Of course he was. With the help of Lydia Stormborn's alliance, he'd spoken to that soul. The dragon was having a grand time in Shadowfell, offered a hoard of his very own. He was so complacent. The years would pass without pain for the brass dragon. He had all the space, the skies were his domain. It was far better than he had been, in that dank, closed in basement with the All-Caster.

This was different.

He heard the cheers. He knew they cheered for his death. It didn't matter that it wasn't really him. Wasn't his friend at all. Every cheer they let out that made it clear they didn't realize how much it hurt. Every time one of the High Elves let out a cry of how this was the anniversary of when the Necromancer was cut down from killing the entirety of Gladeholm. The Heroes of Bahumia, destroying the evil Horseman of Plague fiercely.

The Horseman that had been wearing his best friend's skin. No, they didn't care about that. They didn't think about that. He couldn't blame them. 

A hand startled him on his shoulder, and he looked up. A red-headed Crick elf stood over his shoulder. Buxom, and curious, and powerful. As beautiful as she had ever been. 

He offered her a small, wan smile, but he kept his face averted so she could not see the redness in his eyes. His hair was loose, hiding most of his pinched expression. "Jolene. I apologize. I am not... today is my day off."

That gentle hand left his shoulder slowly, before he heard the crunch of grass on the left of him. She too sat cross-legged. Graceful as ever. Her movements were so perfect, so lovely. The slightest look from the side of her eyes, watching him. Her expression was guarded. No pity. No malice. Just trying to feed on his emotions, to heal them, to tend to them. As she always did. "It's all right, Lucanus. He was my friend too, you know."

He sniffled, and wiped his eye with the back of his thumb. "It is... hard," he admitted. "Most of those who knew him like I did are dead. So many of them just think he went evil."

She swallowed. Just listened to him. Sitting silently. Her hand was offered. 

He gripped to that offered hand like he was trying to hang on at the edge of a cliff. "We know he did not. Beverly spoke well of him. But so many still do not believe it. No one can believe that a Necromancer didn't go evil. They forgave Qwiksus in mere moments, but him... It hurts. It hurts, Jolene."

"I know," she whispered, softly, and she pulled him towards her, cradling him. She knew she needed to let him cry out. She rocked gently. "It's okay. Let it all out, sweetheart."

His head buried in her shoulder, his own shoulders shaking with his sobs. He'd cried in joy in front of his people, but this, he could not let them see. Not this weakness. He had to be strong, for Gladeholm. 

But on this day. 

On the day when that battle took place, where he had declared a nameless holiday, when he insisted on taking his day off. He could be weak, in the arms of a woman he'd loved so long ago, who offered her comfort silently and warmly. Matronly, as she had always been. Stronger than he, as she had always been.

The moments slowly passed. As his shoulders slowly stopped shaking. As, at the very least, he couldn't cry any more. At least he could control himself again. He did look a mess. Wisps of blonde hair stuck to his cheek. Eyes further reddened. His head aching in such intense ways. 

"Better?" Jolene whispered, patting his back. 

He nodded, but it was a lie. It was all a lie. "I am... thank you. I do believe I needed that."

"What you need is some rest," she said quietly. There was the slightest pause to her voice. "And after. I want you to go on a trip with me. Because I realized I wandered away at the wrong time. I've been traveling with Moonshine. The Crick is better. But Gladeholm won't be whole until we make it whole." She smiled, and put a hand on his cheek, tilting his head up ever so slightly. "It's... going to take some time. But Moonshine had an idea. Girl's so danged clever. And we're a powerful Druid, a powerful Evoker.. and a powerful Necromancer."

He shook his head, with a slight, almost painful frown. "I do not... understand."

She smiled. "We're going to Planeshift. And then we're gonna cast one hell of a spell."


	2. Tether Essence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick trip to Shadowfell reunites the duo with an old friend, and a bit of heartache ensues.

Qwiksus had packed up his lovely little hoard for the day. It was a strange shift, to go from guardian of the relic of the elves to an actual dragon. The gifts had been so nice in Gladeholm university, but they were just a side-passing. He had ached and hurt there. His old bones would rattle with movement, and he had to slink and squeeze down small hallways. It had near gotten him killed the first time when Thiala's mage came with the clockwork Templars. But here?

Here, he sailed among the sky under the light of the Bloodstar. The others had been so kind, offering him gifts and trinkets. And the next day he would have tea with Aryox, an Eladrin bard that he had so much to speak about.

Never in his life did he possibly think that death would have set him truly free.

He sailed through the cool air, his scales feeling rather nice in this sky. He let out a burst of fire from his mouth, his breath sailing out in exultation from the delight of being so free within the sky. A laugh escaped from his throat, and he swirled around, turning over to fly upside down for a moment, before taking a circle back to check on his little hoard that grew by the day.

They were so small. So very small from this height. Gladeholm had been high, but now the sky was entirely his.

As the figures grew more into focus, as he sailed forward, he could see Lydia Stormborn, standing with two other folk. The Revenant Human spoke with the two ... elves? His pupils dilated almost like a cat, huge wings sending up a burst of dust and wind as he landed. The delight in his face was impossible to mistake as anything else.

"Lucanus! Jolene!" 

The blonde elf ran forward first, as it seemed Jolene was talking and laughing with Lydia. Qwiksus lowered his mighty head, as the elf embraced his neck warmly. "It is good to see you," the elf said with a genuinely pleased smile. A huge clawed hand slid around the elf's back delicately. They were so fragile, these people.

"And you, my friend," his booming and reverberating voice sounded. It was as if it was all around them with every word. He spoke as if he were entirely unaware of how mighty his voice truly was. Ancient Dragons were rare, at best, but Qwiksus had spent so long in the University that it did seem like he was more docile than most. "It has been too long."

"We have been so busy," Lucanus said, pressing his face into those warm scales. "We have been building up the town again, and returning the refugees to their homes. It has been a long, arduous process." He sighs. "I know I usually only visit once a year. But... this is... different."

"Oh?" The dragon looked down at the smallfolk elf. A small curious smile on the reptilian face. For those that didn't know him, it wouldn't look soothing. The clawed hand released his friend, letting Lucanus step back from him. 

Jolene moved to greet Qwiksus as well, finally finishing up her conversation with Lydia. "Q, how you do?" she said cheekily, and offered her hand up for a fistbump.

The dragon returned with a clenched clawed fist. A secret handshake? Possibly. It was a small, complicated couple of movements. Lucanus covered his mouth to stop from laughing. Every day, he was learning something new about that fiery redhead. 

"So, did he tell you yet?" Jolene said with a beaming smile, pressing her forehead to his overlarge nose in fondness.

One very large eye focused on Lucanus curiously. "He. Did not." The emphasis was strongly placed on the first word. He didn't look hurt, or angry. He was merely curious. 

The High Elf opened his mouth, then closed it, as Jolene pushed off of the large reptilian face, with a small smile. "Well. We'd like. To bring you home, Qwiksus."

The dragon for a moment looked puzzled. "What are you talking about? I am home." 

The Crick elf grinned, and offered a hand. "You know what I'm talking about. We can bring you back."

Qwiksus paused. He didn't often look uncomfortable but there it was. His vertically pupilled eyes shifted away. "Ahh. That's... so nice. I mean. I understand, the Resurrection. That you have a plan, even though things might not work."

Lucanus looked up at him, watching the expression of his old friend. He opened his mouth, and sighed. "You do not want to leave this place."

The dragon looked down a the elves. Jolene with her confused expression. And Lucanus with his sad, understanding one. "Here. I am free. I have made so many friends. I do not have to give out day passes. I don't hurt. I have my very own hoard. The only thing I have to guard is myself. And my hoard. I have new friends here too. I've met this Eladrin I have tea with. A few of the mages and I share magic tips and tricks. I... like it here. I like it a lot. Far more than I liked working for the University." He sighed, and slipped to all fours to start pacing like a large cat.

The Ex-Mee Maw of the Crick looked so puzzled. "But... you're not... Ahh..." She lowered her head, and scratched behind one pointed ear.

"Alive?" The large head lowered to her. His mouth was curved into a sharp-toothed smile. "I've been alive for a long, long time, Jolene." He threw his head back to laugh. It was almost uncomfortably loud, but none of Lydia's Shadowguard seemed uncomfortable at all. If anything, those passing by looked amused, as if this was an entirely normal occurrence.

That reptilian head lowered once more, to face down the elves. "This is my home now, my friends. I am sorry. But... I don't think I can go home with you. Even if you did bring me back? I would fight to come back. I love Shadowfell. The sun doesn't hurt my eyes. I get to fly people back and forth. Lydia is a good, strong leader. The rat-man and his bear husband..."

"We're NOT fuckin' married!" the undead rat-man bellowed. It looked like he was inside a nearby building. His words were followed up by a groan of a bear growling. "Hey, you're not helping!"

Inside jokes. There were already inside jokes. Qwiksus looked... happy. And at home.

Jolene's smile slowly fell. "I'm... I was... we're bringing dragons back to the skies," she said, almost weakly. Feebly. 

The great beast's head turned to the redheaded Crick Elf. "All the more reason to stay here. I have not seen another dragon in a long, long time."

Lucanus was already approaching him, to place a hand on the left shoulderblade of his old friend and coworker. "I will miss you," he said quietly.

The dragon once again smiled and curled his right claw around his back in that half hug. "You will come visit me yearly. You will not have the time to miss me. You lead Gladeholm now. Time flies in that place."

Jolene, however, had merely turned her back. Her arms crossed under her breasts. She sniffs slightly. "Well. You got your new family now."

The wise, ancient dragon just watched her with a small smile. "Get in here for a hug. I've known you since you were a child of fifty." 

It only took those brief words for the crick elf to swirl around from her slight pout, to fling herself against the great beast. Perhaps he squeezed a bit too tightly, as the two elves found it suddenly difficult to breathe. "Ribs, ribs!" Lucanus shouted suddenly, and those reptilian eyes widened as he released them both. 

"Ahh, sorry," he said sheepishly, as Lucanus rubbed on his bruised ribs. 

Jolene laughed, then winced. "Oh, ow. But so worth it."

The High elf smiled at that, and offered his hand. "Well. If you change your mind. As soon as we speak with Erdan. We shall have the ability to bring you back." He furrowed his brows, as his smile faded. "Where... is he, anyway? Has he gone visiting the libraries of the different cities again?"

"Oh." Qwiksus' eyes widened. "You did not know?"

He looked, perhaps, a bit puzzled. He shook his head. Jolene walked to his side, to place a hand on Lucanus' shoulder.

"He went to Ruby Dawn. To atone."

Both of them looked with widening eyes. "What?" they asked, in unison.


	3. Sapping Sting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plotting Necromancer is sometimes a good thing...

How many days had it been? Months? Years?

Nevertheless. After the last visit from Lucanus, he couldn't help but put things into perspective. All the things he'd done. His life, flashing before his eyes, combined with the merciless thrumming in his head. Even as he restocked the library he'd help to build and gained access to Necromantic magic he never thought possible. 

He knew he had to take drastic measures if he were to truly move on. 

The Dusk Mother had left this realm, along with a few odds and ends. He had moved to follow her, but she just shook her head.

Was he not good enough for repentance?

The ache that filled his dead chest almost felt real, as if his heart could start breaking any moment. 

No.

Be practical, Erdan.

~~~~~~~~~~

_Be reasonable, son_ , his father spoke, as they packed up their belongings. _If we do not fight, Asmodea will take over. And then…_

_Then,_ he said, with a sigh. _Then they will come for Gladeholm._

_We aren't even going to be in combat,_ his mother's voice said cheerily from the other room. She'd fitted herself in her old Elven chainmail, and as she stepped out, she did a little twirl. Her curly, dark hair for once seemed a bit more tame, pulled into a tight ponytail. _Wizards fight from a distance in the planning tents. How does my old armor look?_

His father smiled, and slid a hand around her waist. _It still fits,_ he said with a laugh, as he leaned in for a kiss.

Erdan's nose wrinkled, and he looked away, giving them some semblance of privacy. Of course, it wasn't the act itself, but those were his parents.

_Still,_ he said, keeping his face averted. _Bubbles has said she has some worries about the intel. Their numbers are far greater than…_

_Erdan._ His father's voice softened, as he released his wife, to approach. _I appreciate all the Necromantic school has done to try and help us glean what is happening, but the spirit of a single cat could be wrong. We have Diviners and soldiers with their daily reports._

There was a single, solitary kiss placed on his forehead, before his father withdrew. _We'll be back before you know it._

~~~~~~~~~~

_Just not in complete parts,_ he thought, sourly, as he rose to his feet. He brushed the seat of his pants off, the Shadowfell dust darker than normal.

He covered his eyes for a moment to get a better look at Qwiksus, flying through the sky, confident and eager. The holes in the roof of the library could be fixed, it wax true, but he didn't want them to be. The dragon had made this place home well before he even attempted to. It almost made him smile.

Almost.

Right before he remembered he'd murdered the dragon. Because of his actions, Qwiksus was dead. He was dead. Beverly Toegold the 4th was dead. Red and Gunther. Everyone.

The apocalypse had been averted. And he'd murdered his friend and coworker.

"Hey, mopey fucker."

His head turned rapidly. Fortunately, he wasn't up on the ladder this time. 

The rat had snuck up on him once more, sending his glasses sliding down. Even in death, those damned pince nes would just not remain stationary. He had, finally, learned to hold his hand up so they didn't go flying. Some small mercies about being snuck up on repeatedly by a rat man. One learned. 

"Red. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He readjusted the glasses, half of the undead Rat Man blurry to his vision. Perhaps there was some surprise in his eyes as his vision regulated, and Red had a bit of awkward sheepishness in his eyes. 

"I… uh. Well. We've decided to start havin' a party to celebrate the end of the fuckin' apocalypse. Liven up the joint. An'..."

Red's voice trailed off as he scratched behind one ear, sending a patch of fur to the ground. "Well. Gunther thought you might wanna come, seein' as it was like… your anniversary here too."

There was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't a smile. The thrumming in his head grew louder. Perhaps he snapped a bit more than he intended. "I am _fine_. Thank you." The words were jarringly biting, and only partly because of his headache. Another book on the cart was placed delicately on the shelves with deft hands. 

Red looked almost nervous, looking over his shoulder. The ghost bear waved his hands. Go on. It was a universal sign, even with his unintelligible groan. 

The rat man winced, and looked back to the elf. "Look, man. I'm sorry for like… treatin' you like shit when you first got here. Like … Bev was like a little brother to me, but… you know, you're not as big a piece of shit as I thought."

Erdan sighed, as he put the book back into its proper place. "I appreciate the invite. But I do not think. That it is something to celebrate." His pause was palpable, before he rubbed at his forehead. "Thank you. Though. I think you are… wrong. I am. Just the man you thought me to be."

"Whoa, whoa man. I didn't say that." Clawed, almost rotting paws raised up, outstretched to the elf. "You ain't the bad guy here, man."

He looked up, through the large hole in the roof. At the dragon, flying. "I was, though. I lost sight of the important things." Jolene's kind smile. 

_As you asked her to leave Gladeholm._

Lucanus' open friendship, judgmentally free. 

_And then you mind controlled him to attack his own daughter._

The Heroes of Bahumia. 

_Erdan, I'm so sorry…_

_He cried for me._

_Why didn't Lucanus?_

"Man. We've all done shitty things here. It's how we ended UP here," the rat-man protested, trying to ease up the tension. 

"You had the opportunity to make things right, Red. You had redemption, and I _never. Will_." His voice was firm. Tense. Hardened. 

The Rat's yellowed eyes narrowed. "Fine. Fuck you, man. Go to Hell." Those paws were almost silent, making it clear when he'd left the small library that gave Erdan some sense of purpose. There would be no door slam, as there was no door but he would assume Red would be satisfied with just the lightest of stomping.

The Necromancer exhaled. Alone at last. Those words had stung, but mostly due to his throbbing headache. He picked up another book from the wooden cart, and his eyes widened. 

_Go to Hell._

What was stopping him? A trance and making sure Planeshift was in his book? A _body?_

He raced for his small writing desk where he'd journaled, to brush aside his sentiments, and brought up a blank piece of parchment. He dipped his quill. The schematics were furiously written on the papers. Could it be possible? He didn't technically have a body, after all. Spells were difficult to cast without that.

He paused, and reached forward. His eyes closed. Concentrate. He couldn't believe he hadn't tried this. Other Spellcasters were down here, after all. His eyes slowly opened. 

There the flame burned, in his palm. 

He let out a startled laugh, but his eyes widened as the parchment started to alight. "NonononoNO," he got out, startled as he patted the small flame out, dispelling his Cantrip.

Dispel.

He'd dispelled it.

"Hah!"

He beamed, sitting down on the ground. He hadn't a moment to waste. 

His eyes raised to the heavens. To Qwiksus, flying the open skies, letting his flame alight as bright as the Bloodstar itself.

"I will make it right, old friend," he promised, as he went still, cross-legged, to trance.


	4. Life Transference

The Dusk Mother. A full Goddess at last. Embraced by the Pantheon.

She sat on the previous Hellfire Throne. She would not be distanced from her worshipers, from those who sought out penance. She would, however, remain impartial.

The Ruby Dawn was quite lovely. It was never perfect, but in the few years she'd improved, the torments had grown to redemption. Of course she had kept the monster truck rallies - it had been part of the deal when she took over, and Pendeghast the Betrayer was in charge of keeping that at the ready. Everything was in place. 

Mostly. 

Save for a necromancer who had somehow Plane Shifted into her realm after his death.

It had been a moment of chaos for her, when the bumbling but somehow sweet Demon Lord had come into her court. Yelling about how some ghost had dropped into the middle of a "freaking sweet" rally. Chained, the Elf had been presented to her, curly hair loose. And yet, when he looked up at her with pleading eyes, she could tell he meant every word he said. Confessing his sins as if she were the priest and he going through his first confession. 

It was not often she had someone come here who was not begging for mercy.

The easiest ones to create penance in were the ones who punished themselves. She found herself thinking wistfully of Bortram, now basking in the glow of her father's light. Or of Jvelin, at Moradin's forge. How she missed them. It had been so long since she had seen one worthy of repentance such as them.

Thus, The Dusk Mother, Goddess of Repentance and Death and Light, had welcomed Erdan the Strange into her fold.

The world was as it should be. The emotional begging and pleading from those who would suffer. Those who understood their need for penance for their sins. The study and research. The council of the others. Pendeghast insisting that they needed another track. Every day by day exactly how it should be. When she heard the plane open up, the feel of great magic being cast, and she turned her cowled and wimpled head to the feeling of it. Blindly reaching out. Her voice was different now. More powerful, more assured. "How can I help you, Moonshine Cybin? And... ahh." Her voice caught, at the halfling traveling with her. His hand held up, with a small almost tired smile.

The halfling was the one who had clearly been casting. His Elven elder looked thrilled, smacking him on the shoulder. "Whoo, youngin, your very first Plane Shift! Oh!" She looked up to the Goddess, green eyes bright, shining in the dark. "Don't mind me. He wanted to come here. An' look at that! Pendergreens is putting up a new track!" She almost sashayed, jogging out of the new Temple to the Dusk Mother, the old ruins of Rust's war machine, cleaned up and repurposed.

The Goddess opened her mouth to speak, but the elf was already jogging quickly to meet up with her friend, the large demon digesting and destroying the Hellfire Crown. A hug of such trust was traded, as she was left alone with the quiet halfling teenager. "I know you," she said, trying to keep her voice quiet. It was difficult, in this time. Her voice so easily boomed from the sheer power she now wielded.

"Y...yes. I believe... I think you do." He approached, slowly and carefully, brushing a thick bit of curly orange hair from his left eye with one hand, to get a better look at her. He lowered his head, and kneeled in reverence. "Erlin Kindleaf. You... I think. I think it was you."

The cowl shook back and forth, and then for a brief moment, paused. Perhaps granting some mercy from her voice, for a moment. "It was you. You were in the water. You prayed to me."

The lump in his throat was clear, but he nodded, sending that thick hair falling over one eye once more. "You answered my prayer," he said, humbly. "As ... as soon as I learned Plane Shift. I asked if Moonshine... I asked if she would let me. Come here, and ... thank you. Personally. I know it's been a few years, but I haven't forgotten."

Her hand reached out from a flared sleeve, and a finger crooked under his chin. She lifted his face, so she could look into those eyes. Truth. He had held on, all of that time. Clinging to what was right. It was rare to see that light that shone so freely from one of her Father's believers. "You have nothing to thank me for, young Cleric," she said, keeping her voice soft and even. "Selfless prayer is hard to ignore."

His eyes widened, and perhaps welled up a bit with tears. "Still," he insisted. "Thank you. For what you did. I wouldn't have had the strength to save him. And... after... after what... happened..." His voice trailed off almost nervously.

Again, her cowl shook. "What happened with my father was not your fault. It was only one person's fault."

"If I had been smarter, stronger...!" His voice burst out, and it was clear. She knew, he had held on to that guilt all of these years. Every single person who sought her, even if they did not mean to, was in need of repentance.

But this one, like the Necromancer, did not need it.

"You are far stronger than you know, Erlin Kindleaf," she said softly. A mother's kindness, as her hand cupped his freckled cheek. "You do not know yourself. You have saved so many. Even him. In that moment, and in many more. And more to come."

He opened his mouth to respond, but he felt... power? It was clear the Goddess felt it too. It was humbling, truly, to feel that hand leaving his cheek. To see her stand from her throne. Gone was its darkness, in more of a natural motif, the thorns and vines wrapping about it as if it too provided redemption and punishment. "I have been getting so many visitors lately," she mused. Her eyes flicked to the halfling cleric, his face turned towards the source.

Her curious voice touched his ears, as he realized he was trying to feel for what sort of magic it was. "What do you suppose it is, young Cleric?" She sounded almost amused. Not condescending, as some could. Just... perhaps. Testing, offering him a chance to come forward with what skills he had to offer.

His eyes focused on the distance. Feeling for it. "It... it looks... like... something... Like my magic? But... I... can't..."

"Don't think," she urged him. "Close your eyes. Have faith. Feel for it."

His green eyes shut, and he breathed in deeply. Out. In. Out. There. His eyes slowly reopened. "It's a Plane Shift. It's... It's not of the faith, but of the Earth. It felt like... I smelled ... almost... nature. Dirt, and vines, and wildflowers." His head turned to her, and looked up. Almost asking for the correct answer.

The cowl nodded. gently. "And Erathis. Interesting." A hand raised. "But more importantly. A question is coming. An important one."

His mouth opened, then closed. He bowed deeply. "Thank you. For meeting with me, Dusk Mother. And for saving Bev. All those years back."

Once again, that matronly voice greeted him. "It was you that saved him, Kindleaf. Never forget that."

He bit his bottom lip, and slowly walked backwards. Bowing towards the Goddess before turning last minute, to jog after Moonshine.


	5. Negative Energy Flood

It was good, honest work, and so very different from Gladeholm. It was almost safer here as well.

Here, he didn’t have responsibility.

Here, he wasn’t in charge.

_Here, you cannot control your friends en masse and cause the destruction of a …_

No.

None of that now.

Time to focus.

The back of his hand wiped along his brow, the dark curls of his hair getting in the way. The humidity of the Ruby Dawn was doing that no favors, strands delicately sticking to the side of his sweaty, elven cheek. It made him feel more complete. He did wonder how Alanis with her own curls had dealt with it when she was traveling the Nine Hells.

“I used goggles. Duh.”

He started, dropping the books he’d been carrying, his eyes widening as they fell to his feet, near missing the purple-clad High Elf. “Ah! I… what… how did … you..?”

The lazy gaze of the Legendary hero met his, briefly, before helping him gather up the books with surprisingly elegant, graceful movements. “I know Plane Shift. Duh. Come on. Really.” She looked pleasantly amused, as she set the books on top of the stack he’d already built up. An easy slide of the books from one hand, her other holding onto a pipe. “Current Alanis knows that spell just as well as True Alanis does, man.”

For a moment, it caught the Necromancer off guard, and he blinked. “Uh… ah… hah. I see?”

She waved a hand at him, sending a bit of smoke scattering through the already hazy landscape. “So,” she said, letting out a puff of fragrant smoke. “What brings an elf like you to a shitty place like this?”

His eyes widened at that, and as if against his will, he snapped. “I happen to think it is a very nice place.”

She let out a small coughed laugh, and then took another slow drag off of her pipe, as if to make up for the lost smoke from her amusement at his response. “Fine, then. What’s a shitty elf like you doing in a nice place like this?”

“Funny.” He looked so tired, putting each tome on the shelf in order, sighing at the ageless Hero’s words. He faced out the spines carefully, fingers tracing along the gilded wording. So many in different languages, both dead and living, Infernal script and Celestial. Anywhere he went, the world was a library, and knowledge was so important. 

“No, really.” She pulled herself up on a nearby salvaged table, one of the few things he’d managed to take from the rallying demons. It easily held up her slight weight. “I remember seeing you hundreds of years ago, and you were like… the life of the party.”

“Alanis…” Another familiar voice was over his shoulder, and he turned again. A ghostly form of an elf that he had not seen in a long. Long time. His eyes widened. 

“Ilsed? What…”

The wisp of the ghost sighed, and Alanis looked back as another exhale of smoke escaped her nostrils, like a dragon. “He wanted to see you. When I saw there was a large possibility you’d go to Hell by your own choice, he wanted to talk to you.”

“I am,” the ghost said. “Uniquely qualified. To let you know you were not at fault, my friend.”

Erdan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not have time for…”

“Listen to the man,” Alanis - what had she called herself? Current Alanis? What in the world did that mean? - urged, almost quietly. Almost reverently. “He left Hestavar out of concern for you. If I were there, I sure as shit wouldn’t leave for anyone that didn’t matter to me.” The words were almost stressed, despite the light chuckle that escaped with it.

His hand paused on one of the books, and his head lowered. “All right.” He turned slowly, leaning against the table.

He couldn’t meet the other Necromancer’s sad gaze. His eyes were tired. His face pale, weary. Haggard. Erdan felt responsible for every single one of those looks. 

“I’m…” Erdan started, but Ilsed spoke at the same time. The ghost waved his hand, and the Necromancer closed his eyes tightly. “I am… sorry. I did not treat you well. When we schooled together. I treated you like a bother.”

The ghost’s eyes widened, and he canted his head. “I thought I clung to you FAR too much and thought I WAS a bother.”

“But if I hadn’t…” The story had been given back to him. He knew what had happened on that horrendous day. He had told Ilsed to move. To call on the lich that had eaten his very being. “It is my fault you…”

“No, Erdan.” The ghost looked puzzled, almost quizzical, but still, sad. “I knew the risks of the Lich. My pride overtook me. I envied what you had. I tempted you when you were at your lowest to… impress you.” There was a small breath of a laugh, almost a soothing breeze in this dark place.

“That may be,” the dark haired Necromancer murmured. “But… I made the call. Were it not for Lucanus, I would have been possessed sooner than I was. I… was terrible to you. And I apologize.”

The ghost ruffled. Its eyes widened, and it… no. He. Ilsed. Looked almost sheepish. The terror of Ilsed, ruler of the Nine Hells. Was in front of him, begging forgiveness. 

He couldn’t possibly realize there was nothing more Erdan could give. There was nothing he had left in the world other than guilt swallowing him whole. 

"So. There you go," Alanis said with a small, knowing smile. "You two are so freaking weird, you know? This place cleaned up nice. It's not a bad place to visit. Humidity," she said, sliding off of the table, and handing over a hairband to Erdan without even stopping her stride, "aside. But I wouldn't want to live here. Got people missing you on the other side."

The Necromancer swallowed hard, both his pride and guilt. "I do not… want to hurt them again."

Alanis paused in her footsteps. "We never do. It's unavoidable, though. When you truly share love with someone that hurt can be forgiven. You need help. And you need to forgive yourself. They already have. Come on, Ilsed. Those of us who are frigging old and have died over a hundred years ago need to get back to our homes." 

He could see her silhouette as what remained of Ilsed slowly drifted towards her, a shadow. There was a wisp of a smile on the elven ghost's face. “It was… good to see you, even if it’s only one last time.”

“Ugh, you Gladeholm elves are SO dramatic,” Alanis said with a grin. “You seriously need to lighten up. It’s only what was once Hell.” She winked back at Erdan, and she held her hand up. “You’ve got company, strange one.”

His head turned, and when he looked back, Alanis and Ilsed were gone, a portal opening up. And through it, stepped two very familiar figures. Her long red braid almost led the way from the spell, the twisting of vines and flowers surrounding her. Crick by her freckles. Her beaming smile was perfect. She stepped through and reached her hand back, pulling the blonde elf behind her.

Lucanus.


	6. Animate Dead

He wanted to approach, to say something, anything, but his voice caught. It wasn't clear if it was from the humidity, or that he felt so incredibly drained from talking to Ilsed and Alanis. Either way, Jolene approached him. Rapidly. Was she angry? Upset? Did she still hold a grudge? 

Her brows were furrowed, as she inspected his face, almost cornering him. He edged to almost sitting on the table, pressing against it as if he were a cornered animal. 

Even close up, her age was barely visible. The Druid's long life only showed a hint of crow's feet at the corners of her Crick green eyes. The smallest of laugh lines at the corners of her mouth that echoed a past of amusement. Perhaps her red was not as vibrant as it had been. Perhaps there was some silver there, but it only helped to reflect her intense gaze. She truly was beautiful. Distracting him at least momentarily from Lucanus.

Without a word, just a gentle, almost idle sigh, she took the hair tie from his still and shocked hand, and she smiled softly, matronly. "Look at what you done without us here. Turn around, sweetie."

He opened his mouth to respond, but it was clear her words brooked no argument. He turned, and he felt her reaching up to his curls. She wasn't pulling roughly. "Erdan. You ain't been taking care of yourself, have you?" What sort of question was that? He was dead. He was in Hell. 

He let out a surprised help as she gathered together chunks of hair. Was it supposed to hurt slightly? How was it possible it WAS hurting? And what was she…

It slowly clicked. She was braiding his hair. Like he was a rowdy youngun. "You've got some knots, but I think it's saveable," she mused, the initial slight soreness of his scalp from her cleverly working tangles out fading. "We won't have to shave yer head." 

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to keep back the tears. All of his time spent here, all of the suffering and malice and internal pressure to try and just maintain himself was threatening to burst like a dam. All over a small act of kindness. 

“ _There_ we go,” she soothed, and he slowly turned around to face the Crick Elf. Her green eyes were kind, her smile soft. Before her gaze hardened suddenly, and she smacked his shoulder, hard. “What were you _thinkin’_ , Erdan? We were _worried_ about you! Next time leave a note, or let us know so we don’t have to waste a Plane Shift! It should have been him takin’ us to Shadowfell and me takin’ us home but no no no, you just had to be a stubborn ass and leave without saying anything!”

“Ow!” he gasped, suddenly. “I did not want to trouble you! That is all, there is no need to strike me!”

“Well, you gun act like a youngun I’m gonna _treat_ you like a youngun!” She crossed her arms, and then gave him one lighter smack on the arm. Before hugging him tightly. “We were worried.” 

Her voice softened, as he stiffened from the embrace. One hand tentatively raised to pat her on the back, and slowly. Carefully, the muscles in his back slackened. “I did not intend to worry you. I promise. It was just so I would not be in the way. That is all.”

“I know what bull you think you were doin’,” she said with a small smile. “But the truth of the matter is, you’re still our friend. Even if… he’s distracted goin’ through the books.”

The blonde elf was indeed fascinated with the tomes, elegant fingers running along the spines of books. “This is _incredible_ , how were you able to gather together such a collection? Even with the other layers of… Hell… cloooo…” Two sets of elven eyes widened on him, as he paused, almost sheepishly, stepping back. “Ahh. Yes. We are here for a purpose!”

“Right,” Jolene said, and grinned, again giving a playful smack of Erdan’s shoulder. “So. My daughter, bless her, is just so smart. And she thought. Well. You’re an expert in the realm of life and death. An’ you haven’t moved on yet, right?”

The Necromancer looked at her, almost suspiciously. “Yeeees?”

“So. You ain’t ready.” Her voice softened once again. “Are you?”

For a moment, his brain felt as if it were moving in slow motion. “I… do not know if it will work. And I do not have the materials.”

“You see. That is where we come in,” Lucanus said rather proudly, walking towards Erdan. “It’s quite clever. We know you have some power, even without a body. But, it seems, without, you have a peak you can act upon. Limited power is no good at all. Not if we hope to… bring you back.”

His dark eyebrows rose, as the pince nes slid further down. “You… would cast this. For me? It is… expensive. We cannot weaken Gladeholm.”

“No, no, it was partly a gift from the Heroes of Bahumia,” Lucanus continued, starting to pace. “A few odds and ends from the University. Things I … ahh. Borrowed. From your office. If you do not mind, I mean.”

“Also, we wouldn’t be castin’ it alone, youngun.” Jolene grinned, and hip-checked the Necromancer. “You’ll be the one doin’ the hard work. On account of of the fact that you’ll be the one occupying my body while my soul’s in a jar an’ your body gets rebuilt.”

Erdan’s eyes widened, and he leaned forward. “You mean to say… I shall be casting Magic Jar, then Reincarnation on _myself_?”

“Now you have it,” Lucanus beamed. “But… you will not be Reincarnating yourself. No no no. You will be Resurrecting yourself.”

His eyes widened further, as his two friends just smiled. “But.. that is MADNESS! What if the jar breaks whilst I am casting? Resurrection is expensive - we cannot afford that!”

“That’s the beautiful part,” Jolene said with a grin. “You cast it from me, sweetie? You don’t need no spell components. I’m of the Earth, remember? Melora’s blessing. She knows damned well we need you.” Her eyes flicked over to Lucanus, idly fidgeting with a book.

Erdan's gaze followed hers as well. And he sighed. "Well. I suppose. If everything goes wrong, it shall just be me that ceases to exist." 

"Don't…" Lucanus started, but he frowned. There was that faint pause as he fumbled for his words. "She … she's right. And it will work. Because … we. Need you. Gladeholm needs you."

"Well." He sighed, lifting up his glasses to get a better look at the duo. He delicately plucked them from his nose to idly wipe on his shirt. "I am rather tired of being dead."

Lucanus' eyebrows were raised. The tension in his body was barely visible until it released a little bit. Just a little. There was some sadness there, some small bit if hope that was declined by Erdan's words. 

Jolene broke the tension, and easily. "Not exactly the _resounding_ excitement we were hoping for. But I'll take it!" She reached into her cloak and pulled out a small, squat jar with runes carved on it, placing it on the table.

Erdan's eyes widened. "What? Now?"

"No time like the present," she said with a sincere smile, as Lucanus looked up nervously. His gaze darted away. “Unless…” there was a moment. Just a single moment where the most confident, most honest, most beautiful woman in the world’s face fell. “Unless. You don’t… want to. Come home too.” 

That break in the Crick’s elf confident veneer caught the Necromancer off guard. His eyes widened at that moment. Like a shooting star. Rare, and if he had blinked he likely would have missed it. So brief. So much sadness. “But… that’s fine if you don’t, sweetie,” she continued, with a wave of her hand.

He owed her so much. He owed her for suggesting she leave Gladeholm. For betraying their friendship over… that. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, re-evaluating his words, before pushing his pince nes up the bridge of his nose. “It will at least be interesting to try. On an intellectual level.”

Her green eyes brightened so much she looked as if she were in her first century again. “That’s the spirit! C’mon. Siddown, and we’ll get this thing underway!”


	7. Resurrection

The three elves sat, cross-legged, around the table with the jar. Erdan sat across from the former Mee Maw of the Crick, with Lucanus focusing deeply, meditating. 

Well.

Perhaps not that deeply.

One eye slowly opened, looking from one, to the other. He was concerned, but speaking that aloud? He never expected to feel this incredibly awkward, being around the two of them at the same time. Yet, there he was. Jolene’s eyes were closed tightly, as if waiting, as if knowing full well since none of them were watching, she could have at least a moment where she was given freedom to be weak.

On the other, Erdan, focusing on the magic and the magic alone, not allowing himself to feel anything except his adept curiosity. His head even in this state was slightly turned from Lucanus, a denial of emotion that he did not need.

It made him ache in ways that were unfamiliar to him.

The magic around them built. Here, in this place of repentance, in this heart of the realm of the new Goddess, Lucanus looked at his friends. Both being so… separate from him. They were concentrating on different things. 

The jar on the table shook with the violence. No. It… it wouldn’t work.

It couldn’t work. Not like this. 

He had to make it right.

His other eye opened. Watching the two of them. Jolene on the edge of weeping now that she had the freedom to do so without judgment. Erdan trying so hard not to care.

His left hand slid into hers. Her tense fingers almost startling, but her eyes did not open. She… relaxed. Her long, elegant fingers - albeit scarred and calloused from hundreds of years of hard work - intertwined with his. Her shoulders slid down just a bit, as she squeezed his hand, hard enough to the edge of breaking. 

He would be her strength.

The jar on the table shuddered still. A little less, but it looked almost on the edge of cracking. His head turned to Erdan, the Necromancer’s lips moving rapidly with the words.

Why was this so hard?

That was the soul of his best friend. They had known eachother since they were younger than Moonshine had been when she started on her journey.

What had changed?

His eyes were screwed shut, that frizzed braid that Jolene had tied into his hair laying against his back. The cloak fluttered with magic. He was… Oh. No.

Erdan was fading. Losing himself.

Lucanus’ mouth opened. He wanted to say something, to say anything. Nothing had been awkward between them. Not the late night study sessions. Not the tears they’d shared, the hardships, or the laughter until his stomach cramped.

Erdan’s face screwed in pain, and Jolene let out a little gasp. A small “no,” a quiet sound. His hand squeezed hers, but it didn’t seem to comfort either of them. Something was wrong.

Lucanus looked panicked for a moment, looking back to Erdan.

Why was it so awkward? So difficult? It was so _easy_ with Jolene.

The Necromancer’s image looked to be fluttering along the edges as he expanded his power. In and out of existence, like he was a shadow of himself.

“No!” Lucanus gasped, and his hand shot to Erdan’s shoulder, as if holding him there. His breath caught with a choked cry. “I’m here, I’m here. Please… don’t… don’t leave me. Not again.”

Erdan’s eyes flicked open, widening. His pupils were pure white, almost glowing with power. His mouth was moving, uttering the words.

Lucanus' head turned to Jolene, and there… 

He felt it.

He could see…

**********

He was running somewhere… swampy, but beautiful. Why was the world so tall? A dark haired elven girl held his hand. Freckled and laughing. Bright and cheery. "Come on Jolene! Those nannerflies are gettin' away!"

He could see the reflection of two Crick elven younguns, running side by side, their footsteps splashing in the puddles as they ran by. Two sisters, close as close could be.

Their laugh escaped, as they reached for the biting insects, catching them in hand. Painful, fun. Laughter as mud was shoved down the back of their overalls. They let out a shriek. "Cobb, you MONSTER!" 

A laughing, slightly older Crick youngun. A boy, lanky, almost awkwardly tall, with muddy hands, laughing as both of the girls fell on the ground. "I got you both!"

The dark haired girl was the first to respond, leaping at the boy with ferocity. "You leave Jolene alone, Cobb!" It was clear she wasn't serious, the laughter as she knocked him off of his feet into the mud. "When I'm the Mee-Maw you're gonna stay in the time out bag, for good!"

He was laughing, filthy, hair stringy behind him with the wetness. As they rolled over. As Jolene watched. As they grew. The fast passage of time. Older. Kissing after a fight. 

Lucanus felt it. That loneliness. That sorrow. The third wheel in their group of adventurers. Unconscious bullywugs being finished off as they celebrated together. Be strong, Jolene. Smile. You should be happy for your older sister! She has a love who doesn't mind her being the next Mee-Maw. 

She didn't have to deal with the responsibility of birthing for the whole Crick. She didn't WANT it.

"Jolene Cybin, our next Mee-Maw!"

What? What was happening? Their eyes widened, and their head turned. A hand reaching out to Marabelle. She was lovely. She was hurt. Pushing their hand away. Jolene was just as surprised as she was. She willed it. She tried to will it into existence. Make them change their mind. 

Make it stop.

Make the fighting stop.

Make

The hurt.

Stop…

Please, Marabelle. Please, don't hate me.

I don't want this…

The lightning, the pain. It hurt. But no more than her dear sister's betrayal.

She sobbed openly. Wept over her sister, retreating. Please…

Come back, Marabelle…

Please, come back…

A Mee-Maw has their duty to the Crick. 

Respected. Powerful, and bedded. 

"Look at you, walking around like you know who your daddy is."

It was almost a cruel joke to her as much as it was to who the insult was directed. They didn't mean it that way. They never did.

It was only the love of her people. 

It wasn't supposed to be this way…

They needed their people. The Crick lifestyle was based on many over the one. Traveling away from the Crick to Gladeholm was hard enough. Finding the floating city, to speak, to lend their aid in the coming war against Asmodea. The High Elves would need all the help they could get.

He was, perhaps, a little surprised, to see himself. Through her eyes. Younger. Prettier. Erdan by his side with a small, almost cocksure grin. That hand extended out to him. There was so much dirt underneath those fingernails. 

His Necromancer companion took that hand first. Openly. “Welcome, Jolene the Green, Mee-Maw of the Crick Elves.”

He heard Erdan whisper something about how she was prettier than he expected. Just a teasing whisper from his friend. He could tell, and feel, that Jolene pretended not to hear. “Pleasure meetin’ up with you. Let’s discuss what to do against these assholes makin’ trouble in Asmodea, shall we?”

**********

Lucanus felt himself… return there. His hand was still in Jolene’s, but now, her eyes were open. White. Still. She had been crying. Her mouth open, whispering unintelligible words. "It's… it's okay," the blonde high elf said softly. "It's all going to be okay."

"I didn't know," she whispered. "I didn't know, I … I'm so sorry…"

His head turned to Erdan, now. Eyes white, as…

**********

As his head turned up towards the birds. It was Gladeholm… no, before the war. 

"Erdan, what in BAHUMIA are you doing out here?"

He knew that woman. Exasperated. With pince nes glasses on the bridge of her nose. A small laugh escaped, hair tied back in a thick curly ponytail. Her smile was tired, but friendly. She'd been teaching all day, after all. Abjuration. "What am I to do with you." The woman offered him a hand, helping him up from the ground. "Come on. Not that it matters. That will teach me for wedding a Divination wizard."

He followed the woman, rather cheerily, racing after them happily, to their humble home. "Oh! Is Lucanus coming over later for dinner?" 

"Mother, you know he has work as well." Were his cheeks warm? They felt warm. 

Father gave a knowing glance, and a small smile. "He's always welcome. I heard you got to meet Qwiksus today."

"Really?" His hands shuffled the plates to setting, joining his parents for their meal. It was almost instinctive, as if he'd done it so many times before. "Did you hear it or did you scry?"

Father sighed gently. "I am sorry, but I worry about you! You're so powerful in Necromancy, and folks often think the wrong thing about it, you know? I don't want you to get hurt, or bullied at school."

"I will not. I have Lucanus watching my back." The greens were put in front of him, a large dinner sized salad. "Father, you don't need to doubt me."

A hand rested on his shoulder, and when he looked over… he was in a crypt. His grey eyed mother gripped his shoulder hard, pointed fingernails piercing his flesh.

His father gripped him tightly in a bear hug, cutting off his breath. He couldn't bring himself to fight back. Tears welled to his unwilling eyes again.

I was weak in front of you.

I cannot do that again.

Ilsed ran. He was running, even before a word was offered. No offered comfort, no wonders to fix this, no help against the Lich. Nothing save retreat.

His hand cupped Lucanus' cheek. He would trust his council. He would. Eternally.

A flash of memories, of seeing Lucanus from a distance. Of a shift from his demeanor, going from playing around to more focused. Of a night when he'd needed comforting and woken up with his best friend.

Of a night when he'd seen a red-haired fiery creature in his bed. 

Of him asking her to leave, quietly. Jealousy being hidden behind reason. She would endanger Lucanus' position here.

Of the guilt eating him alive.

Of him agreeing to go on a dangerous spy mission for Gladeholm… but mostly because Lucanus had asked him to.

Of feeling that deep and piercing hurt when Lucanus' relief at him leaving. Misinterpretations wrapped in a pile of insecurities and fear and heartache. 

**********

Lucanus held fast to his friends. His loved ones. Sharing their deeply hidden agony as the jar between them glowed. The words chanted. Agony etched on the elves' faces. 

He would be strong for them, just this once.

He was here. For them. Lending his strength to those he had thought were so much stronger than he. And he loved them. 

He loved Jolene's fiery spirit. He loved her want to take care of everyone, sacrificing everything she was for the good of the world.

He loved Erdan. His childhood friend, who carried sins both imagined and real on his back so others would not have to.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "Forgive me. For being so utterly blind."

The jar shook again, the runes lighting in gold, a tremble at the table, and then it exploded in white light that blinded him.

He blinked rapidly, as slowly his vision returned. He saw Jolene, rubbing her head and laughing. "Ohh, MAN, what a rush! You okay, youngun?"

And there, laying weakly on the ground of the Ruby Dawn. With a corporeal form. Laid Erdan. Alive.

Lucanus squeezed Jolene's hand, and raced over to his side. "Are you all right, my friend?"

He coughed, only slightly. "What… nnh. I need… coffee."

Lucanus laughed, and gripped his hand tightly. "We will get you coffee. After we all rest."

Jolene walked up behind him. "What did you see?" She said almost curiously to Lucanus. She placed her hand on his shoulder, perhaps a little more for support than she would have admitted. 

"Ahh. Nothing. Just light," the Headmaster of Gladeholm University lied quietly. He didn't know how much they would want him to know. "Let's just… get some rest. And we'll get home."

"Mmh." Erdan curled up on his side, weakly pulling himself up to rest his head on Lucanus' thigh as if using his friend for a pillow. "Home sounds good. Thank you. Jolene. Lucanus." Those names, said while he was weak, sounded almost deifying. 

Lucanus could only smile, as Jolene slid to sitting next to him. "You're gonna get puked on when y'wake up, you know?" She was still teasing him gently.

He ran his elegant fingers over Erdan's forehead. "You know, I truly do not care in this moment," he responded, equally gently with small smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure this is the end of this one! I might write a little epilogue though!


End file.
